Chapter 23
Ever since we left the Grave, I’ve been on my guard for two things: lurkers and rogues.
We’ve met our fair share of lurkers. There’s ash all over New Jersey thanks to us. But, despite Maverick’s insistence that there are plenty of rogues on the Outside, we haven’t met one yet.
Until Mav returns from scouting ahead with a woman wearing a backpack of her own—and a pair of sunglasses.
She has basic survivor gear on: a pair of muddy jeans, a faded grey t-shirt, and tennis shoes that have seen better days. Her curly black hair falls around her shoulders. She has a mid-size build, but curves that are enviable.
After the Turning, a frame like that says you not only survive, but you have plenty to eat.
I’d put her around thirty-five, maybe a year or two older. Definitely closer to Mav’s age, though I wouldn’t describe her as motherly the same way I did Chloe.
Something about her is attractive. I see it. I hope Chase doesn’t.
I know from one look that Maverick does.
“Veronica McLean,” she says after Mav introduces Chase and me to the rogue. “Aren’t you two adorable? They make a cute couple.” She nudges Maverick in the arm. “Don’t you think?”
I pretend not to hear her. Instead, I focus on the shades.
It’s sunny out. I’m beginning to think all the non-stop fire all over the country has really put global warming into overdrive because we’re knocking on October’s door and it’s still way too damn hot outside.
In the before times, I wouldn’t be surprised to see a woman like this Veronica wearing sunglasses.
But now?
“Sunglasses?” I ask her.
She knocks the ear hooks on each side, making the frames dance. “Of course. They make me look good.”
I watched her do it. I’m pretty sure her eyes are blue. Not black.
Not a lurker.
Okay, then.
It’s weird, having a fourth travel companion.
On the one hand, it works out. Veronica and Maverick hit it off almost at once.
I’m not sure if it’s because they’re closer in age or they’ve both spent a lot more time on the Outside so they have that in common, but almost immediately after he introduces her to us, they partner off, Maverick leading the way while Veronica keeps up easily.
And that’s the problem. Those two are getting along like flies on honey, but that leaves me with Chase. I got so used to refereeing between him and Maverick, without the two squabbling over stupid shit, it’s just me and Chase and a whole lot of baggage between us.
I’m not talking about our backpacks and bedding, either.
It doesn’t take long before Maverick invites Veronica to New York. At first, I thought she was just enjoying the company, but when he tells her about the lurker nest we’re targeting, she shrugs her shoulders and says it sounds like fun.
Fun.
Man, rogues are weird.
I’ll take the help, though. And, well, it’s nice having another woman around. Maybe with Veronica here to distract Maverick, Chase won’t shoot daggers at him with his gaze for the sole crime of being friendly with me.
He’s jealous. Chase, that is. He’s so jealous, he’s almost green with it. I try to act as if I don’t notice it. Maverick, realizing that a younger man’s issues aren’t his problem, totally disregards it.
If anything, I’m basically like a daughter to him, not a prospective lover. Veronica, on the other hand…
I’ll give the two of them credit. At the end of the world, it’s nice to see two people who aren’t screwing around, dancing around the subject of attraction and having sex just to have it.
All through today’s travel, Veronica’s laid it on pretty thick.
I guess I should be glad she didn’t target Chase with her flirtatiousness, but Mav… he’s no match for Veronica.
They don’t even wait until they’ve known each other a couple nights.
Almost immediately after we made camp for the night, setting up a fire and eating whatever we have in our packs, Veronica buddies up with Mav, the two of them bowing their heads together, murmuring about something I can’t hear over the roar and crackle of the fire.
Chase noticed their instant spark, too. He noticed it, and I don’t think he’s a fan. Jealous, remember? When he looks at the two of them cozy and intimate, almost like it was love at first sight for them, I know he’s wondering why I’m purposely keeping my distance.
To be fair, I’m thinking the same thing.
It’s dark out now, but not that late. I’m on lurker duty for the moment due to my strange sensing ability; when she heard I can do that, Veronica pronounced it “cool”, then went back to flirting with Mav.
I’m surprised they managed to hold off on jumping each others’ bones as long as they did.
About an hour after sunset, Chase couldn’t take it any longer.
He got up, making that hemming-and-hawing announcement about slipping into the woods that usually means he has to take a shit—because after the last time I wrinkled my nose when he said that plainly in front of Mav and me, he’s tried to give me some reasonable doubt to what he’s doing—and disappeared.
Maverick makes sure I’m okay with watching the campsite on my own.
In my experience, if a lurker does happen to stumble upon us while we’re hiding out in the woods, it’s more like the middle of the night rather than so close to dusk or dawn.
That’s why I’m usually given the last watch, but with the promise of a knock-out woman closer to his age dragging him into the dark trees, it looks like Mav is good with switching the order around.
Fine with me.
So I plop down in front of the fire as the two of them go off together, and as I sit by myself, I can’t help but wonder what the hell is taking Chase so fucking long if he was just going to relieve himself.
Dudes can sit on the toilet forever when they’re taking a dump.
I know Rory used to. Jack, too. But we’re outside.
Dig a hole, do your business, and hope you can find something to serve as toilet paper before splashing some water on your hands to clean up as best you can.
Don’t dawdle, especially when no one has your back.
No one has Chase’s, and as I gnaw on my thumbnail, I admit he should’ve been back by now.
Because I don’t want him to think I was worrying about him, I give him a couple of minutes more.
The last thing I want is to interrupt him if he’s still taking a shit or doing something else.
He deserves the privacy, but, fuck it, I’m getting real antsy.
Truth is, I don’t like Chase being out there where he won’t be able to tell if a lurker is coming, and it pisses me off that he’s been disappearing a lot lately.
Okay. So I know he’s doing that because he’s giving me space while taking some for himself. And, yeah, he proved himself to be a badass hunter by tracking me to East Jersey on his own, but still.
I need to go find him.
I glance at the flickering flames before deciding that the fire should be fine. If not, I’ll re-light it after I drag Chase back by the hair to the safety of the campsite.
At least, that’s my impetuous plan. In reality, I’m simply hoping that I’ll run into him on his way back after he finished what he was doing out there or, if I can’t find him, stumble around for a few minutes just so that I don’t have to sit alone at the campsite, praying like hell that whatever Veronica and Maverick are doing together doesn’t drift back to me on the too-muggy autumn wind.
I mean, if I can’t get laid, I’m not too keen on hearing two other consenting adults get it on. Especially since I know that, if I wanted to bang Chase, all I’d have to do is take him and he’d be mine—
I fist my hands at my side as I march from the campsite, not sure who I’m more annoyed with at the moment: my stupid hormones or Chase for making me get so worked up. If he wants to join our hunt, he should stay nearby, and I figure he’s the one who deserves my silent grumbles.
I don’t call his name, either. Just in case there’s another rogue close by—and not just Veronica—I listen for the sound of something that could be a built twenty-five-year-old former athlete making his way back to the camp.
That’s when I do hear something. And, considering Maverick and Veronica went off in a totally different direction than Chase and I did, it can’t be them.
I’ll tell you what. It sounds like it could be.
I hear panting. Grunting. Flesh on flesh, and something that’s just enough of a squelch-y sound that my mind goes straight to the gutter.
My eyes fly wide open. Yeah, I know that sound. I shouldn’t be proud to be able to recognize it as easily as I do, but I know it… and before I can think better about what I’m going to do, I follow it until I find the source of it.
Beneath the moonlight, I see a man bracing one hand against the trunk of a tree.
The other? I squint through the darkness, noticing that he’s bowed a bit.
The way he’s angled, reaching down, there’s no missing how his right hand is going back and forth, back and forth, pumping wildly as the silver handcuff on his wrist catches the moonlight with every one of his quick strokes.
His jeans are down past his ass, legs braced apart, and the grunts are so familiar, I have to squeeze my legs together.
Shit. It’s Chase.
It has to be.
And when I tiptoe forward before murmuring his name softly, causing him to whip around, hand still wrapped around his hard cock… I know exactly what he was doing.
Seeing me standing there, watching him, Chase lets go of his cock as though the skin burns. He doesn’t do anything else. He just watches me back, waiting for me to say something.
I’m pretty sure he never expected it to be what comes out of my mouth.
“If you were heading off just to have a little private time with you and your dick, you should’ve told me. I would’ve tagged along.”
He blinks. Once. Twice. Then he swallows roughly, his voice a little ragged as he calls out my name, loud enough for me to hear him though no one else would.
I nod. “Who else would it be?”